A (Rather) Rude Awakening
by EvenstarShine
Summary: After the death of her grandfather, Kristin inherits the family farm to run on her own. Amid farm work, finances, and an eccentric best friend's wedding plans, she never anticipated the Fellowship to appear in her barn in the middle of the night. Mayhem, mischief, and adventure ensues as she attempts to juggle her life all while trying to manage the Fellowship's here on Earth.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Back in 2014 I started this fic. Back then it was titled New in Town and it gained popularity fairly quickly. I loved developing the story and characters. I interacted with the fic's following, it was such a positive and inspiring environment for me as a write. Unfortunately, as time went on, life got the better of me and I abandoned the fic. Now! I have time and I really want to bring this story back to life. I love my OC and this time I have it fully planned out to completion so I hope you're ready for it!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything! Everything belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien!**

**Pairings: Boromir/OC**

**Always make sure to fave, follow, and review! I love your input and suggestions. They are truly what make this story thrive. So please please please, tell me what you'd like to see happen! Who you'd like to see! I write not just for myself, but for the audience as well. I want this to be your story as well as mine. **

**So please enjoy!**

* * *

Leaves rattle softly in the Summer breeze, vibrant shades of green and yellow dancing in golden light of mid-day. The air smells sweet, like lavender. Beyond the horizon, mountains stretch high into the sky, beyond the trees, beyond the clouds. A creek babbles as it cuts across the field laden with wildflowers, bathing the earth, promoting life and nourishment.

_This is perfect. _

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Instantly, the illusion shatters. The pristine landscape melts away. Mountains become the dresser and vanity. Flower patches transform into piles of dirty laundry. The sound of the creek gently flowing over bedrock reveals it rained last night, and that water is draining from the roof and now pouring out of the gutters.

_And the alarm is still screaming. _

I slap it a few times until the ear-splitting drone finally cuts off mid beep. I squint as my eyes adjust to the dim morning light streaming in the half open window.

5:30AM

I push my face into my pillow and groan dramatically. After a few seconds of that, along with a slew of my favorite cuss words, I sit up and push the sheets back. Reluctantly, I throw my legs over the edge of the bed. Feeling around on the floor, my fingers search for the jeans I'd balled up and thrown down there the night before. Once they find their mark, I scrunch them up and over my legs, already sticky from the humidity. Standing up, I shimmy into them and stretch out my arms.

I keep on the sports bra that I slept in. I hook my thumbs into the loops of my jeans as I scan the floor for a clean shirt. When I think I've found a safe one, I give it a sniff, decide it's decent enough, and tug it on over my head.

_I really should do laundry. This is…embarrassing. _

Balancing on one foot, I nearly fall over as I tug on one of my work boots. Once I get the other on, I traipse through the sea of dirty clothes until I reach my bedroom door. The hallway isn't much better. Half unpacked boxes line the walls. I suck in my stomach and squeeze through two precariously stacked columns of moving boxes.

Reaching the front door is nothing short of a miracle. The screen door moans on rusted hinges as it's pushed opened and I'm instantly greeted by the thick hazy mid-Summer Virginia humidity. I let the door slam behind me and traipse down the wooden front porch steps. I make a note of the chipped and worn paint. _Just another thing to fix. _

The earth is soft from last night's rain. Mud squishes under the soles of my boots as I make my way to the fenced in area that houses the cows, of which there are only two. The youngest cow, Jerry, moos at me as I unlatch the gate and step into the enclosure. "Yeah, yeah." I grab the aluminum bucket and fold-up stool from beside the gate and set it up beside her.

I finish up and like clockwork, I make way around the property, doing this and that until I reach my last task of the morning. The chickens cluck and baulk at me as I shuffle about the chicken coop, collecting the eggs out from under them. Several minutes (and chicken scratches) later, I make it out without letting any of them escape.

I roll my neck as I drag my dog tired limbs up the porch steps and into the house. I like to avoid working during the hottest hours of the day so I hang out inside, attempting to unpack and organize my life in this big empty ranch house. Before attempting to tackle the boxes crammed in the hallway, I head to the bathroom for a shower. I switch the shower on, setting the water temperature as cold as I am able without turning the water off. Stripping down, I cast my clothes aside and step into the icy stream. I revel in the chilly flow of water. It nurses the tension in my overworked muscles. I moan blissfully. _I needed this._

As if the universe senses that I might start feeling a bit too relaxed, the landline starts ringing. I bristle but have no intention of leaving my shower, so I just let it ring and ring until the answering machine picks it up.

"Kristin!" I recognize the shrill voice immediately. Lana O'Hare, my best friend since middle school. That girl and I did everything together. From Girl Scouts, to boyfriends, breakups, and everything in between. We played on a travel soccer team in high school. Lana went to college on a soccer scholarship. We were both offered one. I had to turn mine down once my grandmother died so I could help my granddad run the farm. Anyway, Lana went on to graduate college with a degree in journalism, and where did that get her? A job at the local paper in the same damn town we both talked so much about getting out of when we were younger.

Lana was getting married in a month. I, of course, drew the short straw and get to play the part of maid of honor, puffy pink sleeves and all. I love her dearly, but I am not a frills and thrills kinda gal. I squeeze the bottle of cheap drugstore vanilla scented shampoo into my hand and lather it into my hair before tuning back in to Lana's voicemail.

"…anyway! The rehearsal dinner is in 3 weeks Can you believe it? I feel like there's still so much do to! I'll probably stop by your house tonight, is nine o' clock too late? Well, if you don't see me then, expect me bright and early tomorrow to go over some last-minute wedding details! Love you, bye!"

I rinse the soap out of my hair and cut off the water. I shiver slightly as I wrap a towel around my body and make my way back to the bedroom. I eye the bridesmaid dress hanging precariously off the full-length mirror with disdain. The dress doesn't fit me right. Amid all the pleats and ruffles, my athletic build just looks lanky.

Ignoring the ill-fitting garment, I towel myself off. After throwing my straw colored hair up into a haphazard pony-tail, I pull on some clean clothes and head to the kitchen. My belly grumbles, angry at me for not putting anything in it when I woke up five hours ago. I search the refrigerator and after much deliberation, settle on leftover pizza. I throw a couple pieces on a paper plate and chuck it in the microwave for thirty seconds. I rest my elbows on the counter and try to ignore the stacks of unopened cards and numerous vases full of brown and wilting flowers. It's been three weeks since my granddad's funeral. The flowers had finally stopped being delivered, but I couldn't bring myself to throw out the old ones. So they sit, dying in dirty water.

The microwave beeps and pulls me from the dark recesses of my mind, now overrun by the thought of food, food, and more food. I carry it over to couch and collapse onto the worn leather cushions, which sink under my weight. I wrench the remote out from under my thigh and click on the television, flicking through the channels until a familiar theme catches my attention. I let the movie play for a few seconds before confirming it's one of the _Lord of the Rings_ movies. According to the TV guide, it's only an hour in. I smile and lean back into the couch. My brothers and I used to watch these growing up. We'd run around in the woods playing men vs. orcs. Of course, they always made me play the princess or elf queen in need of saving. Typical guy shit.

* * *

The sound of TV static rouses me from an incredibly deep sleep. I squint to read the numbers on the cable box below the television set and my eyes widen.

10:30PM

I grab my cellphone and hit the home button to make sure I'm not seeing things.

_10:31PM _

"How did-" My voice trails off as I wonder how I managed to sleep for eleven hours straight.

I toss my phone aside and click off the TV. I stand up and immediately kick myself when I trip over an empty box. I push the box aside and as I reach for the light switch a loud crash outside nearly sends my heart flying out of my chest. I hold my hand over the switch, afraid to turn it on. Aside from the cows, chickens, and horses, there wasn't a soul for at least two or three miles; so what the fuck is going on?!

I swallow the growing lump in my throat and creep toward the den. In lieu of alerting a potential intruder to my whereabouts, I avoid turning on any lights and instead, fumble around in the dark until I locate the gun case. My fingers shake as I twist the lock. I offer up a small prayer of thanks when the door clicks open. I waste no time picking up the hunting rifle. My brothers never wanted me to feel unprotected out here on my own so they spent months teaching me how to properly use each gun in the case. I just never thought I'd have to open it.

I slip out through the back door, not even bothering to slip on any shoes. I rest my finger just above the safety, ready and waiting. My hearts pounds against my rib cage, so hard I worry it may shatter the bones in my chest. I take a deep breath and take calm measured steps toward the barn. Every hair stands on edge when I hear voices.

_I should've just called 911. Jesus fuck. Why didn't grab my phone? This is how every girl dies in Criminal Minds. I can see the headline now: Idiot Girl Dies After Thinking She Can Take On Three Armed Trespassers. Turns Out, She Can't. I guess if this is how I'm meant to go, it's how I'm meant to go._

Swallowing my pride (and fear,) I take a deep breath, shoulder the door open, and raise the rifle. "Alright gentlemen, show's over, why don't you-" My jaw drops and I nearly drop the rifle. I don't believe my eyes. Three men, one much shorter than the others, stand before me dressed in what look like Renaissance costumes..._and one of them has an arrow aimed right at my face. _

"Hey!" I shout and fix my aim on the armed intruder. "I'd put that down, blondie. I really don't want to use this."

I click off the safety and place my finger on the trigger.

"Because I sure as hell won't miss."

**A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thank you so much for reading the beginning chapter of my little fic! I look forward to hearing from you all! **


	2. Chapter 2

**I only began this story last night, however, I wanted to get another update with more Fellowship action in it up and running before I head out of the country for the week! In the short time it's been posted I'd like to thank those who kindly faved, followed, and reviewed. I always respond to reviews in the next update so, without further ado…**

**BronzeWold336: Excellent constructive criticism! Sometimes I get caught up in the flow of writing and make things extra wordy…will definitely keep in mind for future updates! It makes me so happy to hear this story has always been one of your faves! Expect many similar themes, but there will definitely be some new twists and turns for sure. I forgot how much I love writing Legolas and Kristin's relationship throughout this story. Her sass is by far my favorite character trait! **

**WickedGreen13: Every member of the Fellowship makes an appearance in this fic! I hope you stay tuned to see how they er, adjust, to life on modern day Earth. :)**

Blondie's rugged friend steps forward and holds up his hands up, but I'm not about to drop my guard that easily. Instead, I train my sites on him. "Hey!" My voice shakes, and I hope he doesn't notice my brave face wavering, "Don't you fucking move."

A trace of a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips yet his eyes are soft when he speaks, "We mean you know harm."

"Yeah?" I almost laugh. "Tell that to your friend there ready to put an arrow between my eyes."

He holds my gaze a moment before turning back to Blondie. He says a few short words in a language I don't recognize. Blondie responds angrily in the same foreign tongue but after one last forthright command from Rugged Jawline, he lowers his weapon. Hesitantly, I do the same.

"Does someone want to tell me what the fuck is going on?"

Rugged Jawline presses a fist to his chest, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn." He waves his hand toward the short, burly gentlemen juggling a long double bladed axe between his gloved hands. "This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas Greenleaf." Legolas glowers and narrows his eyes, displeased by the exchange of niceties. "May I ask your name, as well as the name of the place we're in."

I raise my eyebrows. I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't that. Slowly, I introduce myself. "I'm uh, Kristin. You're in Shenandoah Valley, Virginia."

The three exchange bewildered expressions. Clearly, they're just as confused as I am.

"Have you ever heard of such a place?" the shorter man exclaims. His voice is gruff, deeper than any I've heard before. He turns his attention to me, "I've never heard of this Valley." He looks around suspiciously, his fists tightening around the ax handle. "Certainly, doesn't look any I've seen before."

His mannerisms make me nervous. My fingers tighten ever so slightly around the stock of the gun.

The barn door crashes open behind me. I jump back and bring the rifle up to my shoulder. Two small children tumble onto the ground, one right on top of the other. I immediately lower my weapon and watch as they scramble to their feet, shoving each other and shouting unintelligibly.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" I quickly begin to wonder if there's an entire clown car packed full of random men parked outside the barn, pouring out people, one after the other just to get on my nerves. I glare at Aragorn. "Friends of yours?" That trademark rugged jawline of his tenses as he nods and silently claims responsibility over the two small children.

"Merry, look! It's Aragorn!" He grabs hold of his friends waistcoat and darts past me without so much as a backward glance. "You've got to help!" he cries. "It's Boromir! There's an animal trying to kill him!"

I'm too busy marveling at the size of their feet to process what they're saying in the moment. It doesn't take long though for me to reinsert myself in the unfolding situation. "Wait, what's going on? What animal?"

The pair looks to Aragorn, as if asking for permission to speak to me; they exchange a look with one another and then finally turn back to me. Their wide eyes scan me top to bottom before they finally decide to answer, "A cow! A big one!"

My eyes bulge and I kick myself for not demanding an explanation the moment they tripped and fell at my feet. "That's no cow, that's a full grown bull!" My bare feet kick up dust as I spin on my heel and sprint out of the barn.

_I don't know who this idiot is or what possessed him to strut into Daryl's pen, but I swear to God I will kill him if he hurts that animal...well, if Daryl doesn't kill him first. _

The bull pen sits at the bottom of the hillside that the house is built on. I dash down the path, still slick with rain. The moonlight illuminates the silhouettes of three figures; one inside the pen, two at its perimeter. As I draw nearer I begin to pick up on more alarming details. Only several yards of trampled earth stand between the man trapped inside the pen and Daryl. Light glints off of something in his hands and I squint in order to make out the strange object. _What is...is that a fucking sword?!_

"Hey!" I shout. The man seems to hear me but still, he chooses to ignore me. Daryl snorts, shooting tendrils of snot and slobber off to the sides. I watch as he tightens his gloved hands around the hilt of the sword. "Get out of there!" I yell, waving my free arm wildly. He continues to ignore me. I watch helplessly as he foolishly continues to adjust his footing as if he really thinks he stands a chance against a two ton animal. I pick up the pace and pray I get to him before Daryl does. The last thing this farm and this family needs is more publicity. Another headline flashes inside my mind: _Man Killed at Mountainside Farms: Krisitin Sinclair to Blame?_

I shudder at the imaginary headline and curse as I lose my footing. I stumble forward and crash onto my side. The blow forces the rifle out of my hands. I slide several yards before I get the chance to scramble to my feet. Mud flies off of my skin as I regain my center of gravity and sprint down the remainder of the path. Ahead I see Daryl. My stomach drops as he stamps his hooves restlessly, further tearing up the ground. Any second he'll charge. I've seen it happen to my brothers over the years. Each and every one of them has tumbled through the fence to escape Daryl's wrath. It was like some weird rite of passage among them. At Thanksgiving it was always a pissing contest between them to see who could create the most dramatic re-telling of their "near death" experience with Daryl.

_I guess now it's my turn. _

Stepping outside the realm of sanity, I reach my hands out in front of me. My fingers grasp the splintered wood and when I'm sure I've got a good enough grip, I knit my ribs together and clench the muscles in my abdomen to propel myself up and over the fence. Daryl charges. I barrel into the man and we both go flying as the heavily muscled steer plows forward in a fit of rage. "Go!" I yell and point to the fence. "Climb!" He follows my orders and makes a rather hasty exit. I clamber over the fence and ignore the hand he offers. When my feet are safely on the other side of the fence, I press my hands against my ribs and exhale sharply. "What the hell are you wearing? Bricks?"

He smirks, "Chainmail?"

I roll my eyes and shove him, "You could've gotten yourself killed! What the hell did you think you were doing?"

He sheathes his sword and points a gloved finger at me, "I didn't do anything! I was minding my own and then suddenly I ended up here, cornered by that-that beast!"

_Yeah, well, maybe I should've let him trample you. _

I run a hand through my tangled hair. "What the hell is happening?" I cry softly. "I must be losing my mind."

"Well that wouldn't be a very good thing to lose, now would it Mr. Frodo?" Two child sized people approach from behind the man. They peer around his wide frame and scan me with their big eyes.

"No, Sam, a terrible thing to lose." the other responds.

I blink several times. "Yeah." I nod my head up and down, confirming my own suspicions. "I'm definitely losing my mind."

The man takes a measured step towards me. My lip curls as he draws near. I may have just saved his life, but that didn't make him or his friends any less than trespassers. "Well, I don't think that you are." He arches a copper colored brow and points to my leg, "but you appear to be losing a good amount of blood there."

"What?" I shift my attention to my leg and sure enough, blood is pouring from a four-inch-long gash in my thigh. Instinctively, I press my hand over the wound, smearing the mud from when I fell minutes earlier, into the jagged opening. I whip my head around and see a rusty nail jutting out of one of the fence posts. I curse myself for not noticing it earlier when I was feeding the animals.

"We need to get that taken care of." He asserts.

I glare at him, "You don't say?"

"Frodo, Sam, go find the others. Aragorn should have something for this." They nod and trot off toward the path leading up the hill.

"I don't need Aragorn," I say as I pull my shirt off and press it against the wound. "I can take care of this myself, thanks." I sit down and press the balled up shirt harder against my thigh.

"Then at least let me help," the man says as he kneels beside me. "You're paling."

I turn my free hand over, but I'm unable gauge anything, let alone its color, in this light. Inwardly, I begin to panic. This is not good. The cut is too deep and I'm bleeding too much. Reluctantly, I pull my shaky hands away and let him take over. He lifts the bloody shirt and sucks air in sharply between his teeth as fresh blood pools out from under the shirt. He quickly replaces the soaked fabric. "I've never seen a wound bleed like this," he says.

I wince as he presses down harder on my thigh, "Yeah," I grunt. "Most wounds _don't_ bleed like this."

His brow knits together, "I don't understand."

"I'm a hemophiliac," I explain, annoyed at my current predicament. "My blood doesn't clot normally. So-" I grit my teeth. "When I get a cut, no matter how deep, I bleed a lot more and a lot longer than a normal person." I gesture toward the gash in my thigh, "This one is especially bad."

"We need to get you inside," he murmurs. "Where was it? Up the hill, you said?"

As much as I don't want to invite a strange man into my house, I need his help and have no choice but to trust him. Here's to hoping he and his buddies aren't a bunch of murderous killers.

Much to my chagrin, I give him the go ahead and he hoists me off the ground. Once he's got a hold of me, he starts jogging up the hill. The gash in my thigh throbs with each jarring step, sending hot flashes of pain throughout the muscle that the nail had ripped through. The adrenaline wears off much quicker than I anticipated and I now feel every ounce of the injury. I dig my fingernails into my palm to keep from screaming out.

Within minutes we reach the back porch. The steps leading up to the backdoor strain and creak under our combined weight. The door whines on creaky hinges and slams shut. I breathe a sigh of relief as we cross the threshold into the house.

"Through there," I wave my hand toward the swinging door that leads into the living room.

"Aragorn can help you." he says as he pushes the door open. "He has a far greater knowledge in healing than I do. I suppose I'll have to find him myself though." He lowers me onto the couch and I shake my head, "I can take care of it. Just go into the cabinet above the sink and grab the black bag."

He disappears and reappears in a matter of seconds, black bag in hand. "Here," he says as he passes it to me.

I unzip the bag and dump its contents on the cushion beside me. I rummage through the various supplies until I find what I'm looking for: a tourniquet.

"You got a name?" I ask as I loosen the bright orange velcro.

"Boromir," he answers, "Son of Denethor."

I chuckle and slip the open ring over my ankle and pull it up my leg, stopping five or six inches above the open wound. "You and your friends sure do have an odd way of introducing yourself." I pull the strap, secure the velcro, and begin twisting the windlass.

"My name..." I wince as the muscle protests being constricted so aggressively ..."is Kristin."

"Kristin," he repeats my name slowly, "I've never heard this name before."

"There," I breathe and lean back into the couch. I laugh weakly, "You've never met someone named Kristin? That's funny considering I graduated high school with about ten."

"It must be more common among your people." He points to my leg, "It's stopped bleeding."

"Yeah," I breathe and reach for my keys on the side table. "It's only a temporary fix though, this definitely needs stitches." I pass him the keys. "Can you drive me to the hospital?" Under normal circumstances I obviously wouldn't trust a total stranger with my truck...or my life. But hey, desperate times call for desperate measures right?

He eyes the keys strangely, "I'm not sure how to."

"You don't know how to drive?" I ask, bewildered.

"No," he answers, "but I'm a quick learner. Explain it to me."

"It doesn't work like that." I say. _He doesn't even sound like he knows what driving is, let alone the slightest idea of how to do it. _I rub my eyes as black spots dot my vision. _Fuck. I've definitely lost too much blood. I'm running out of time. I have to call someone. _My eyelids feel heavy. I blink hard in a vain attempt to keep them open.

"Kristin?" Boromir asks.

"I'm okay," I say. I don't who I'm trying to convince more, him or me. I am definitely the opposite of okay. My phone is just out of reach on the coffee table. I lean forward and fall to my knees.

"Kristin!" shouts Boromir. I wave him off weakly and grab my phone. I unlock it and swipe through my contacts, desperately trying to find Lana's name. The words blur together and I can't keep my eyes open any longer. God, I'm so tired. The phone slips through my fingers as I start losing consciousness. Boromir is calling my name but his voice sounds garbled and far away.

My eyes fall shut and in that moment I can't help but think of what a strange name that is: Boromir.

_Wait. Boromir. I know that name, but from where? Wait, no. No, I've heard ALL of these names before. Aragorn. Legolas. Frodo. Gimli._

My mind clings desperately to the fraying threads of consciousness as I piece this insane puzzle together.

_This has to be some type of blood loss induced delusion. There's no way. These aren't just random men. They're the Fellowship of the goddamn Ring._


	3. Chapter 3

**Hello and welcome back to another update on my little fic! As always, thank you to everyone that read, followed, faved, and reviewed the last chapter! Just wanted to let you all know I went back and revised chapters 2 & 3 as I felt they were lacking a bit in structure and detail. No major changes that would affect the plot though, so it is not imperative to go back and read them again. **

**Review Responses:**

**KyloRen'sgirl213: Glad you loved the chapter! I hope you like this one too! Thanks for your kind review :)**

**WickedGreene13: Thank you first and foremost, for your dedicated reviews. I love hearing from you with each new update! I promise all will be revealed about Kristin's past in due time. Maybe this chapter will provide a tiny bit more insight...**

* * *

Disembodied voices reverberate in my ears, exacerbating the skull splitting pain at the back of my head. I crack my eyes open and immediately shut them as the fluorescent lighting burns my corneas.

A man speaks somewhere to my left, "Sinclair, yes, s-i-n-c-l-a-i-r."

I wince as something sharp is forced into my hand.

_What's going on? _I strain to hear beyond the various noises, but I can't make sense of anything. My head is pounding, and I can't help but wonder if this is what the asphalt feels like when construction workers break out the jackhammer.

Somehow though, the same voice from earlier manages to rise above my hazy state of consciousness. "She's twenty-three."

_No, I'm not. I'm twenty-two. _I try to speak and correct whoever is speaking for me, but my tongue feels thick and swollen, as if someone had shoved a sock in my mouth. One of my eyelids is suddenly forced open and a bright light shines in my eyes. Before my reflexes can even process what's going on, the other eye is forced open and blinded by the same light.

"Her pupils are responsive, which is a good sign." A different voice says, a female. A dull snap echoes by my right ear. "Ms. Sinclair, can you hear me? My name is Doctor Alvarez." The snap echoes in my left ear, a bit louder this time. "Ms. Sinclair?" I groan and turn my head away from the noise.

Preparing myself for the abrasive lighting, I open my eyes. I blink several times, slowly, to allow the purple splotching, courtesy of the doctor's pen light, and squint at the two people shaped blotches in front of me.

"Where I am?" the hoarseness of my voice startles me.

"The hospital." The man. I rub my eyes, rather clumsily I might add, due to the thick IV jutting out of the veins in my right hand and feel what little color is left drain from my cheeks.

I want to crawl inside myself and disappear as the face of my oldest brother, Drew, comes into focus. Deep purple semi-circles haunt the undersides of his eyes, a severe contrast to his otherwise deeply suntanned skin. His eyes shine as though he'd been crying but I know far better than to ask if he had been. His arms are folded across his chest. Once he's fully assessed that I'm awake and conscious, he turns his attention to the doctor. "So, what's the deal here, Doc, is she going to be okay?"

Dr. Alvarez smiles warmly, "Yes, she's going to be fine." She touches my shoulder with a gentle hand, "You're lucky your brother got to you when he did. You lost a substantial amount of blood, but we were able to fix you up and start a round of replacement therapy to get you clotting properly." She marks something on a clipboard at the end of my hospital bed and smiles, "Get some rest. A nurse will be around in few hours to check on you."

She disappears behind the curtain and I'm not lucky enough to garner even a moment's respite before Drew assails me with questions. "Kristin, what the hell happened?" His voice shakes, and I can't tell if he's more worried or angry. "Why am I being woken up in the middle of the night by Lana frantically begging me to go check on you to find you barely conscious, bleeding on the living room floor?"

My stomach drops, "Wait, what?" _Please tell me he didn't meet the same nine fictitious beings I had the grand misfortune of meeting; sweet Lord kill me now if he did. _

His green eyes bulge with restrained frustration. I can tell he's trying not to yell at me. I wouldn't blame him if he did though, it would be more than justified. I certainly would if I had been the one to find any of my brothers in my state.

"I guess when you passed out, you butt dialed Lana. All she heard was, I don't know," he pauses, "Men's voices?" He runs a hand through his sand colored curls, "Jesus Kristin, what happened? Did someone break into the house? Did someone hurt you-did a man-"

My heart breaks as I realize what he's trying to ask. It's every brother's nightmare; that someone would come and violate their sister or other loved one. "Drew," I say firmly. His eyes glisten. "Drew, listen to me. _Nothing _like that happened." My level of resolve surprises me as I quickly surmise an explanation for this disaster. "I was watching a movie." _See, good start. _"I fell asleep, and when I woke up, there was this loud crash outside." _Still not lying, but let's omit this next bit. _"Daryl for whatever reason, was having a fit." _Because of one particular copper haired moron…_ "When I ran down the path, I slipped and fell. Hence, the mud. When I got down there I climbed the fence to see what was wrong and tore my leg open on a loose nail." _Now wrap it nicely. _"By the time I got to the house, I knew I was in bad shape and wouldn't be able to drive." I gesture to my bandaged thigh, "I stopped the bleeding and tried to call Lana, but I guess I passed out before she answered. I'm sure the men's voices she heard was just the TV in the background." _Nice. _

He runs his hand through his hair again, a nervous tick. "For God's sake Kristin!" he bursts. "If you're going to take up responsibility like this and run that goddamn farm, at least take care of yourself! What happened to hiring help? You can't run that place _and_ do all the work yourself. Accidents like this could happen. Shit like this could kill you and then what? Am I supposed to bury you like I've had to bury-"

"That's enough!" I cut in angrily. "I'm not a fucking kid, Drew. Don't tell me what I can't do. You don't think I've been working on hiring help? Jeez, It's not like Granddad left a detailed plan laying around for how to run the place. For God's sake it's only been a month since he died!"

Pain flares up in my leg making me aware of how tensely I've been holding myself. I relax my muscles and wince as the pain spreads out and fades. The air is heavy with unspoken grief and frustration. Each of us carries the death of our grandfather differently.

"I'm sorry," Drew says softly. "It's just, ever since-"

I lift up a hand and he stops talking, "I know." More than the weight of my grandfather's death hangs in the space between us; but we won' talk about it. Not now. I smooth the front of my floral hospital gown and shift, rather awkwardly, as my right leg stiffens beneath me. Drew reaches behind me to fluff up the thin pillows and I thank him. He smiles faintly and places his hands on either side of my face, "I need you to take care of yourself."

I laugh at his overtly affectionate gesture, "I'll do better, I promise."

He drops his hands, content with my response. "Good. I think I'm going to head out if you think you'll be okay by yourself for the rest of the-" he pauses and glances down at his watch, "well, rest of the morning it looks like now."

I wave him off, "I'll be fine. Go home and let Carol know everything's alright. I'm sure she's worried enough for the both of you."

He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, acknowledging the accuracy of my statement. Seriously, the girl makes Neville Longbottom look calm. "That's my wife." He points a finger at me, "You keep this up and I'll be just like her. Let that be a warning."

We both laugh, and after another quick goodbye, he leaves.

I eventually drift off to the sound of the heart monitor and fall into a restless sleep. Every two hours, a nurse rouses me to check my vitals; and this cycle continues until eight in the morning, when Drew returns to collect me.

"Carol gave me these," he says pushing a fresh pair of sweats and tee shirt into my hands. I graciously accept them, and while I change, he takes care of the discharge paperwork.

We chat shit about this and that on the drive home. Twenty minutes later when we pull into my driveway, I breathe a sigh of relief when I don't see any sign of elves, dwarves, hobbits, or strange men. Shit, maybe it was a dream or dehydration induced illusion. Yeah, yeah that makes sense.

Drew thrusts the gear shift forward. The truck gently rocks as it settles into park. He jumps down from the driver's seat and rushes around to the other side to open the door for me. He helps me down and bids me to hold onto the door while he gets the crutches out of the flatbed.

"I don't need those!" I whine.

He passes them to me. "Just because you can walk, doesn't mean you should. Doc said to use these for the next two weeks until those stitches are ready to come out." I groan and reluctantly shove the uncomfortable plastic-sorry-excuse-for-cushions under my arms.

We stop outside the front door. Drew pats his pockets in search of my house keys. He laughs triumphantly when he finds them but his smile falters quickly. I follow his steely gaze and almost scream when I see Aragorn. _You've got to be fucking kidding me. _

I'd recognize that rugged jawline of his anywhere. It's definitely Aragorn. Instead of cloaks and chain mail, he's wearing jeans and a tee shirt, though where he got them is beyond me. I stare at him and hope he notices the pleading look in my eye. _Do not do anything stupid Aragorn or I swear to God I'll-_

"A piece of land like this," Aragorn says smoothly, "I can see how it wouldn't be easy to run by yourself Miss. Sinclair."

Drew eyes Aragorn curiously, "Do you know this guy?"

I nod slowly. "Yeah, yeah. I uh," I'm floundering, "I met him at the uh, grocery store the other week and told him to come by the farm to see the property. He's new in town and looking for work."

Drew only looks half convinced but he doesn't press on. "Right, well, if you want to interview this guy, I'll leave you to it. I'm going to run to the pharmacy to pick up your meds. I'll be back in thirty." Once he pulls out of the driveway I stare at Aragorn in complete and total disbelief.

"You're real," I groan. "You're actually fucking real."

He nods, "I am, yes."

I lean back on my crutches and eye him, "Well I'll be damned."

"Kristin, I'm glad to see that you are well." He walks toward me and stops just shy of the porch. "I know this is strange for you, having us appear, out of what seems like thin air. Trust me, it's even stranger for us. However, you are, at least for the time being, indisposed and incapable of meeting the demands of this farmstead."

I open my mouth to defend myself but shut it when I realize he has a point.

"My Company and I seek your aid until we gather our bearings and a find way back to our time," he continues. "In the meantime, we ought to give back to you and earn our keep."

As much as I hate to admit it, he's got a really good point. Given the insanity of the situation, it seems like my best and only option. _At least Drew can get off my ass about hiring help. _

_I can't believe I'm doing this.  
_

"Well, I can't believe I'm saying this but," I extend a hand. "You're hired."

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**"Farmers, Ferriers, Stableboys...these are no soldiers." I don't know why but this particular line from the Two Towers movie keeps coming to mind whenever I think of the Fellowship working on Kristin's farm! LOL. Hope you all enjoyed this update! Please consider taking a moment to review this chapter. Your feedback means the world to me! **


	4. Chapter 4

**Happy Wednesday! A special thank you to everyone that read, faved, followed, and reviewed the post recent update. I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. It's very sweet and simple in my opinion, and I would love to hear you all's thoughts as well! It takes place several days after Kristin returns from the hospital. Fast forwarding and introducing elements the Fellowship has picked up in that time just seems to flow better and remove a lot of mundane details and explanations.**

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**DeLacus: Thank you so much! So happy you liked meeting one of her brothers! The last time I wrote this fic I only ever mentioned them and had a really good time writing his character. And yes, Aragorn does seem to have impeccable timing, doesn't he?**

**Guest: Thank you! I'm so happy you love it!**

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"No."

"It's just hair!" I protest and shake my scissors at him. "It'll grow back!"

Legolas strokes his hair as if it were a newborn puppy and he was its protective mother. "Elves don't have short hair!" he bites. "It would be unnatural!"

I groan and throw my arms out to the sides, narrowly missing Pippin with the sharp end of the scissors. "None of this is natural!" I laugh and adjust the crutches under my arms. It'd been a week since the Fellowship arrived at my doorstep. We've all acclimated well to the situation, as best as we can given the insanity of it all.

"I bet Pippin would let me cut his hair!" I turn towards the young hobbit, who, by the time I fully turn around, is darting out the screen door into the backyard where the rest of the Fellowship was toiling about with the day's work load. The door slams shut, and I turn back to Legolas, who now looks more irate than ever.

"Okay, so maybe Pippin was a bad example," I concede and pull a stool out from under the kitchen counter. I rest my crutches against the counter and sit down, massaging the skin around the still healing wound in my thigh.

Legolas' eyes soften, the flame that burned so brightly in them only moments ago, is gone. "Does it hurt?" he asks gently.

I nod, "Not as bad anymore." I incline my head toward the kitchen sink where two bright orange bottles sit, "Could you hand me those?" He crosses the kitchen silently and hands me the bottles, his fingers brushing mine as he does so. I ignore the electricity that lingers where he touched me and take two pills from each. I swallow them and hand the bottles back to him.

"Your medicine is strange to me," he finally says as he returns them to their respective place. "I don't understand how anything so small could benefit you."

I laugh at his naivety, "You barely understand electricity and running water, it would take me eons to make you understand the wonders of modern medicine."

Legolas eyes the lights above us suspiciously, his ears pricking up toward the slight electric buzzing, "I suppose you're right. Your technology is strange."

_You should've seen Gandalf when I tried explaining the Keurig machine. The wizard all but had a conniption when I tried explaining how the little plastic coffee pods work._

He pulls the neighboring stool out from under the counter and takes a seat beside me. The angled planes of his face curve down. He toys with the hem of his tunic, his eyebrows slightly knit together in deep thought. I watch him for a few moments wondering what he's thinking about. Even though he can be a real pain in my ass, surely, none of this has been easy for him. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to be completely uprooted from my house, let alone my entire time period.

"Of all the places we could've ended up," he speaks softly and raises his blue eyes to meet mine, "I'm suppose I'm glad it was here."

His words strike a chord deep within me. Days ago, he was all but ready to kill me where I stood, now he's glad he's here? I can't help but ask why. Part of me is still convinced that he doesn't like me.

"Here," he begins, "I can still rise with the sun. Before anyone else wakes, I run through your woods, though strange as they are to me, and I can still pretend I'm home." His gaze travels back toward the ground, "I miss Middle Earth."

Not knowing whether he'll receive me or recoil from my touch, I decide to risk it and gently wrap my fingers around his forearm. A dusting of pink coats his cheeks when I give it a reassuring squeeze. His eyes glisten, crystalline tears hiding at the corners of his eyes.

He smiles weakly and rubs them on the silken sleeve of his tunic, removing any trace of the torrent of emotions he'd been facing. "Right," he clears his throat and slaps his hands against his knees. "Shall we proceed?"

I tilt my head and raise an inquisitive brow, "Proceed with what?"

He gestures toward the scissors, "I miss Middle Earth but, if I am to blend into your world, I suppose I must look the part."

I pick up the scissors and eye him, "Are you sure?"

Though he tries to hide it, he swallows nervously. "Absolutely."

"Good," I say. "This is lot easier than having to chop the tips of your ears off."

Completely horror stricken, Legolas' eyes widen beyond measure as his hands fly up to cover his ears. "Excuse me?!"

"Kidding!" I laugh and stick my hands out in a placating manner, "Relax, blondie!" I nudge him playfully, "You really gotta loosen up, you know that?"

Hesitantly, he lowers his hands. "Your sense of humor is strange."

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get used to it." I step down from the stool and hobble over to the kitchen table, ignoring the crutches. "C'mon. Sit." Without a word, he stalks over and situates himself on the wooden chair. I set the scissors aside and unwind the braids in his hair. "Holy shit." I feel him tense beneath my fingertips. "What's wrong?" he asks, fear lingering on the end of his words and I laugh, "Nothing. I've just-" I run my fingers through his long blonde tresses, "I've never felt hair this soft before."

He visibly relaxes, "Elves have impeccable hygiene, Kristin. Our kind takes extreme care of our appearance, both internal and external-" I try to remember the last time I took an actual brush through my hair, and not just my fingers. "-though it often ends up being the source of ridicule from dwarves and men."

I scoff as I unwind the last braid, "Men could learn a thing or two from you, especially my ex. You know, I found out he only washed his sheets, like, once a year. I-" I shut my mouth when I realize I'm rambling and apologize. "Sorry, I don't know why I brought him up."

"Who is he? This ex. Kristin? What is an ex?"

I let out a short, wry laugh and run my fingers through his hair a second time. "Something you really don't want to get in to, trust me. It's way too complicated." Using my teeth, I pull the hair tie off of my wrist and quickly wrap it three times around his silken locks. "Your head's probably going to feel a bit lighter in a second."

"What-" It only takes two snips of the scissors for the ten-inch long bundle of hair to fall the floor. I hold my breath and watch as his lithe fingers reach up behind his neck and grasp nothing but air.

"Legolas?"

"I'm fine." He strains, his voice a few decibels higher than usual. "Don't stop now."

So, I continue cutting and layering his hair in ways that naturally cover the tips of his ears. After ten or so minutes I lay the scissors down and hand him my phone. "What's this?" he asks. I reach over his shoulder and open the front facing camera. Not wanting to explain how smart phones work, I just tell him to think of it as a really really strange mirror.

For a long while he says nothing. He just fingers the short layers as if they're some alien matter.

_Oh God, please tell me I didn't break every fangirl's dream man-dream elf._

"I look-" Legolas is suddenly cut off by the screen door swinging open and slamming against the wall. "Where is he?" Roars Gimli. "Where is the pointy eared princeling?" Gimli's boots thud against the hardwood as he clambers into the kitchen. His mouth hits the floor when he sees the elf, more importantly, when he sees the elf's hair littering the kitchen tiles. Deep, thunderous laughter erupts from the dwarf. "I don't think you can call yourself an elf anymore laddie!" he guffaws and falls to the floor in a fit of hysterics.

Like a pre-teen in a chick flick that was told she couldn't go out on Saturday night, Legolas gets up and storms out of the room.

"Legolas!" I call after him. I'm answered by the slamming and locking of the bathroom door.

I groan and retrieve my crutches from beside the counter. Maneuvering around the moving boxes, I make my way to the bathroom and knock on the door, "Legolas, open the door."

"No," he answers brusquely.

I gently pound my head against the door frame and suddenly feel like a mother attempting to pacify an obstinate child. "Don't listen to Gimli. He doesn't know what he's talking about. You look fine!"

"I look like a fool!"

"You do not look like a fool!" I counter. "You actually look handsome, if I do say so myself." Suddenly, the sniffling stops. The sound of feet clambering against tile echoes under the door. The lock clicks out of place and the door cracks ever so slightly. The light in the bathroom casts shadows over the sliver of elf I am able to see through the crack. "Are you lying to me?" he asks.

I push the door open, "No, you moron." I pull him in for a rather (thanks to the crutches) awkward hug. "Come here." His arms hang by his sides for a moment before he returns the gesture. I pull away from him and pick up the copy of Cosmopolitan magazine lying on the bathroom counter. Lana had found several hairstyles in it that she wanted me to try out for the rehearsal dinner and wedding. I leaf through pages, searching for one image in particular. "Where is it?" I mutter. "I know it's in here somewhere."

If it wouldn't send me to the floor, I'd jump up and down with joy. I lay the magazine on the counter and excitedly point at a picture of Orlando Bloom. "Look! I did your hair _just_ like this. He looks pretty good, huh?"

Legolas studies the portrait of the man, then his own reflection in the mirror. "It may not be typical for my kind," he says, "but you did do an admirable job, Kristin." He closes the magazine and strides past me with a renewed sense of pride, "but I do not look a thing like that man!"

* * *

**Are you angry at me for desecrating Legolas' treasured locks? Did you you enjoy this sweet little budding friendship between the two? Let me know! I missed hearing from a couple of you with my last update so I hope to hear from you soon! Your feedback really inspires me so don't forget to fave, follow, and review! **

**Hope everyone is having a great week! If you so kindly choose to leave a review for me, please ****recommend some of your favorite LotR fics in your review, whether your own stories or another authors! I'm finally finding time to read as well as write and would love to support you guys like you support me! **

**Until next time!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thank you to everyone who read, faved, followed, and reviewed my little fic here! Your support means the world! I hope you all enjoy this update!**

**Bronzewolf336: hehehe our poor short haired Elvish princeling! Thank you for the review :)**

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**DeLacus: thank you for the fic recommendations! I'll have to check them out! Thank you for another sweet review :,)**

* * *

"Pass me the hammer." I say.

Aragorn does as I ask and wipes the sweat from his brow. "Shall we take a break? Maybe eat something? We've been working on this for hours."

I tug at the nail I'd just hammered to make sure it is secure and glance skyward. The sun had climbed high and was now beating relentlessly against our necks and backs. I adjust the crutches under my sweaty pits and nod my head, "Yeah, let's do that. Should we tell Legolas?" I ask, inclining my head toward the elf.

Fifty feet to the right, Legolas toils in the garden. He'd been weeding like a fiend for the last hour. I watch as he carefully dances around the colorful beds to ensure no harm befalls the plants. Prior to his arrival, all the plants had browned and wilted under the hot Virginia sun. I tried everything to bring them back, but nothing worked. Since Legolas took interest in them however, they'd suddenly sprung back to life. The flowers smile toward the sun, flaunting their brilliantly colored petals. The tomato plants are budding. I don't know what he did. Maybe he worked some elf voodoo on them. Whatever he did though, I'm grateful. They'll definitely be ready in time for the next Farmer's Market.

Aragorn shakes his head, "Leave him. The plants bring him peace. Elves are more in tune with nature. They share a bond with it that you and I will never understand."

I gaze at the elf, pondering what Aragorn said. I've always loved nature myself and like to think I have some kind of deeper connection with it. My brothers and I loved to hike and camp in the Appalachians during the Fall, and spend time at our Uncle's lake house in the Summer. I wonder how deep the Elvish bond goes. What does he feel? What does he experience that I can't?

Aragorn laughs and gently presses a hand against my back, urging me into the shade of a nearby oak tree. "I know what you're thinking. And if I were you, I'd stop trying to understand it. It would take far too many years, more than you and I have put together, to understand the magic of the elves."

He helps me to the ground, and we lean against the tree. I open the small cooler I'd brought with us and pass him a bottle of water and a sandwich. He nods his head in thanks and tears a hunk of bread off.

In a matter of minutes all that remains of our lunch is crumbs. I break the seal on another bottle of water and down half its contents. Through the plastic of the bottle I notice Aragorn smiling at me. My brow knits together confusedly, "Have I done something funny?" I ask.

"No," Aragorn says, amused. He leans back on his hands and chuckles to himself. I throw my half empty bottle at him. "What are you laughing at?"

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his sweat drenched waves. "In the few weeks I've come to know you Kristin Sinclair, I've taken note of your skills. You're organized. You're dedicated. But…"

I fold my arms and eye him. "But?"

He chuckles deeply, "You're not very observant."

"What in the hell does that mean?" I demand. _Punk ass ranger._

His eyes drift past me. I follow his gaze to where Legolas continues to toil about the garden.

"Legolas, yeah, what about him?" I ask wondering what he has to do with anything.

"He," Aragorn rolls his head left and right as if searching for the right words. "He fancies you."

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing. "Fancies me? What? Like, he has a crush on me?"

Confusion flickers in the depths of his blue eyes and I quickly realize he has no idea what a 'crush' is.

"What gives you that idea?" I probe.

"You cut his hair."

"Yeah, so?"

He laughs again and sighs, "Kristin, elves are vain creatures. They'd rather die than sacrifice their hair. I know it may sound like I'm joking, and to a fault I am. But the truth is elves value beauty above all else; in themselves, others, the world around them…so for him to allow you to sheer it off, and in a way that covers his ears?" he sucks his lip for a moment before continuing, "he would not do that for anyone."

"And you don't think it has anything to do with him being a mythical creature that needs to blend in to a world where he shouldn't exist." I deadpan.

Aragorn sighs, "I'm just telling you what I see, Kristin. I've known Legolas all my life. He's never taken to anyone the way I've seen him take to you."

"Take to me?" I blurt. "The dude hardly talks to me! To anyone?! I-hey! Where are you going?" Aragorn is already halfway to the barn, smirking as he saunters off. I scramble to my feet and wedge the crutches under my arms. "I'm still not entirely convinced he likes me at all. Do you forget the part where he wanted to shoot me a week ago?"

Aragorn turns quickly on his heel and I falter. He steadies me. "Kristin, we all wanted to kill you in that moment. You ought to pay more attention to your surroundings." His gaze travels past my shoulder. "Looks like you have company."

I turn around and nearly fall over when I see Lana's freshly waxed Porsche, courtesy of her rich beux, pulling up the gravel drive. She has no idea that the Fellowship of the fucking ring has taken up residence at the _Air BnB Kristin. _How was I meant to explain this to her? She'll have a field over nine single men…w_ait, are they all single…_I shake the thought from my head. Regardless of their relationship status, she'll have a field day over the fact that any man is in my house. I cringe thinking about the arsenal of orgy related humor that would arm her with.

I crutch over to Legolas who eyes me curiously. "Look, I don't have time to explain. I need you and your quick spidey senses to round up as many of you as you can and go to the barn. There's not a lot of time to explain. If Lana sees any of you before I have time to think of an excuse as to why you're all here," I shudder at thought. "Can you do this for me?"

Legolas nods and without a word, dashes over the flower beds and into the house. I follow but Legolas is much quicker than I am. He's in and out of the house before I reach the front porch. I flatten myself against the wall as Gimli stumbles off the porch, followed by a barrage of hobbits whose arms are full of snacks. Gandalf trots after them, urging them along with his staff. Legolas holds the screen door for me. We lock eyes for a moment and I silently thank him.

The door shuts behind me and I breathe a sigh of relief. _Wait, why is the water running? _I crutch as quickly as I can to the bathroom and sure enough, hot steam is billowing out from under the door. I bang my fist against it. "Cut the water now!"

The water cuts off. "Kristin?"

Boromir. I roll my eyes. Why am I not surprised its him?

"Boromir, you need to get out of the shower. I mean it, NOW." I shout.

"You're quite bossy, do you know this?' he says nonchalantly.

I rattle the doorknob and try not to explode. Of course, the door is locked. I reach along the top of the door frame. My fingers quickly locate the key to the bathroom (it has a trick knob, so I always keep a spare out just in case.)

I jam the key in the lock and throw the door open. "Boromir GET OU-oh for the love of GOD! Put a towel on!" I throw my hands up to avert my eyes.

Boromir smirks, "Like what you see?" He puts his hands on his hips and tilts his pelvis forward to flaunt his member.

I want to melt into the floorboards. I don't have time for this. I step into the bathroom and pull the nearest towel off the rack and throw it at him. "Put. This. On," I seethe. "Now." As I move to exit the bathroom I slip in the growing puddle of water around Boromir's feet. My legs buckle and I reach out to steady myself, but my fingers just barely miss the sink.

"Kristin! Wait-woah!" Boromir reaches out for me but my body smashes into him before he can stabilize either of us. We crash onto the floor, him on top of me. I groan under his weight. "Boromir. You have three seconds to get your ass off of me before I rip your-" He rolls off of me and quickly pulls me up into a sitting position.

"Rip my...?" He arches an eyebrow and smirks when I don't say anything. I'm too angry to speak to him. "Speechless in my presence. I'm sure you'd love to get a hold of my..."

"Kristin! Oh my God!"

Lana's chirpy voice cuts through the air like a knife.

I bolt upright and attempt to scramble to my feet, but everything is slippery and slick with water. Boromir hoists me up by my waist. I scramble for another towel to cover him, "Lana! This is not what it looks like! Oh my God."

Lana's eyes fall to his groin, "Oh…my God…"


	6. Chapter 6

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* * *

Disregarding Boromir's dripping wet, naked frame, (and wildly inappropriate comment) I hobble out of the bathroom and do my best to chase Lana down the hall.

"Lana, this is _not_ what it looks like! I swear!" I yell after her.

Her heels click loudly against the hardwood. "You know, we've always had this open-door policy," her voice echoes frantically from the living room.

As I enter the living room, she points a perfectly manicured finger at me, "Just come in, anytime! Door is unlocked, you told me that."

"I guess I just didn't think I'd walk in one day and you see you all tangled up with someone else…" she waves a hand toward me. "…not that I mind of course! Trust me, if anyone is happy to see you getting down and dirty with someone it's me. I'm just so embarrassed." She shakes her head quickly and places a hand over her heart. "I would never intrude like that!"

I cross the room and grab her by the arms. I squeeze them gently and shake her as I stare into her frantic eyes. "Lana?" I ask.

She says nothing but nods sheepishly.

My lips form a tight smile, "Would you please shut the hell up and sit down?"

Without a word, she does as I ask.

Using the arm of the couch for support, I wince as I lower myself down next to her. My thigh throbs from putting so much weight on it at once.

"Lana, there was no 'getting down and dirty' back there." I explain as I massage the skin around the stitches in a vain attempt to rub the pain out. "That guy?" I flick my head back toward the bathroom. "He's a recent hire. He's helping me out around here."

The vacant look in her eyes instantly vanishes. Her green eyes shine with newfound interest.

"This is like one of those Victorian romance novels," she giggles. "The stable boy and the lady of the house!" She wriggles her eyebrows suggestively.

I smack her across the chest with a pillow and laugh, "Lana I'm serious!"

"Right, right." She says as she readjusts her boobs in her figure-hugging tank top. "So where is this guy from?"

_If only you knew._

"Out of state." I answer hoping she doesn't pry any further.

"And he just showed up here? All alone?"

I chew on my bottom lip, "Well, funny you should say that."

As if on cue, the back door flies open. One by one the hobbits filter in, closely followed by an exasperated Legolas and Aragorn. Aragorn throws an apologetic glance my way before attempting to round up the hobbits.

"Kristin?" Lana's eyes are glued to the scene unfurling before us, "just how many men did you hire?"

I chuckle nervously, "Nine?"

We watch as Merry and Pippin toss snacks and drinks to Sam and Frodo. At their size, they practically have to crawl inside the massive refrigerator to reach its contents. Legolas and Aragorn chastise them in a combination of English and Elvish.

"And uh, how are you paying them?"

I nod toward the chaos in the kitchen, "Room and board." I answer as if it's obvious.

"Well which one are you bringing as your date?" she asks.

If I'd been drinking something I surely would've choked. "What are you talking about?"

She laughs, "You simply can't come to the rehearsal dinner and wedding without a date. You're my maid of honor!"

I scowl, "Isn't that super outdated, Lana? People don't _need _dates anymore to attend social functions."

Lana rolls her eyes, "I know I know, but Kristin look at some of these men you've scrounged up." She taps my arm and subtly gestures toward Legolas and Aragorn. "That blondie is cute. And the one next to him, oh that jaw line!" she nudges me with her elbow, "Plus you've already seen every angle of that ginger in the bathroom."

I lean in close to her face, "Lana, stop fantasizing about my staff before I call your _fiancé_. Speaking of which," I check the date on my phone, "aren't you meeting his parents for lunch in an hour?"

She gasps and checks her Kate Spade watch, "Oh my God is that the time?" she scrambles for her purse and keys. "I've got to go! Think about what I said, okay? I want an answer as to who you're bringing by tomorrow morning! And Kris? The rehearsal dinner RSVP's-"

I hold up a hand, "I've already sent them to the wedding planner."

Lana clasps her hands together, "You're amazing." Turning on her heel, she exits through the front door.

I breathe a sigh of relief as it clicks behind her. Several moments later the backdoor clicks shut and the sound of Hobbit feet pound against the back porch as they make a hasty escape back to the barn.

I close my eyes and breathe in the silence. I remember when I first moved in after my granddad had passed. The silence was so thick and heavy. There were times I worried the silence would swallow and consume me whole. I don't want to go back to that by any means, but, these fleeting moments of solitude offer a brief respite from the chaos. A moment for me to just, be.

A sharp pain suddenly shoots through my thigh, yanking me from the calm and quiet. I cry out in pain as I clutch the sides of my leg. This didn't happen often, but when it did, it hurt terribly. Tears sting at the corners of my eyes. I curse myself for running after Lana so carelessly without my crutches.

The cushions beside me sink as someone sits, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

I wipe my eyes and look up to find Boromir. In one hand he holds my crutches, the other, he rests on my back. The warmth from his hand provides a minor distraction from the throbbing pain in my thigh.

Thankfully, there is a towel draped around his waist. Droplets of water fall from his shoulder length tresses onto his broad chest.

"You still haven't put on any clothes," I say.

He chuckles, "I ask if you need help and your response is: 'you still haven't put on any clothes?'"

I smile softly, "I suppose it's partially my fault. I haven't taken half of you out for clothes yet." Between the boxes of my granddad's clothes and things of my brothers' that have been left behind over the years, I'd been able to provide most of the Nine with at least a couple different outfits.

"Come on," I take the crutches from him and pull myself to my feet. Boromir keeps his hand behind my back as I settle the crutches under my arms. "I've got some more things that will probably fit you."

I lead the way to my room. Thanks to the hobbits, and their love of a cozy home, the sea of clutter and mess had been mostly organized and stowed away. Only a few half empty boxes cluttered the furthest corner of the room. I throw open the closet doors and rummage around until I locate the faded gray duffel bag I'd been looking for.

Boromir eyes me curiously from the doorway as I crutch to the bedside and sit down. I drop the bag beside me and unzip it, sighing heavily as I do so. I pull out several pairs of blue jeans, three pairs of boxers, two t-shirts, and a flannel.

"Try these," I say as I toss him a pair of boxers and jeans.

He steps into my room and catches them. "Where did these come from?" he asks.

"It's kind of a long story," I begin as I turn my head away so he can get dressed. "They belong to an ex-boyfriend of mine, Liam." I pause as I hear the towel drop to the floor.

"A lover?" Boromir questions.

I don't look up, but instead, train my eyes on my dirty fingernails. I clench my fingers into a fist, "Yeah, something like that. We'd been seeing each other for a while, nearly a year. I really liked him."

I catch a glimpse of Boromir in the standing mirror. My eyes linger for a moment on the dimples in his lower back before I shift my gaze to the floor, blushing furiously.

"Anyway, he uh," I laugh awkwardly, "things didn't work out."

"Pray tell."

"Well, uh," I dig my fingernails into my palm, "It's not worth discussing."

The bed sinks as Boromir takes a seat beside me, "You're upset."

I notice his bare feet sticking out of Liam's jeans and follow the seam up to his bare torso before once more looking at my nails. I stop digging them into my palm and finger the little half moon shapes left behind.

I take a deep breath and sit up straighter, forcing a pathetic half smile, "It really isn't a big deal."

Boromir arches an eyebrow. He definitely isn't buying what I'm selling.

"Well," he says, "whatever this man did, you didn't deserve."

I lift my eyes and meet his. "And how would you know that?"

He smiles and his kind eyes shine, "Call it a gut feeling."

I laugh at the odd sentiment. The blue bridesmaid dress hanging off the mirror catches my eye and an idea pops into my head.

"Hey Boromir," I tilt my head and smile, "any interest in attending a wedding?"

* * *

**Get excited for some wedding mischief coming up in the next few chapters! **

**I'm sorry I can't guarantee updates, but I'm trying to get one in every few weeks. I'm in my final year of Uni and working on a lot of things for classes at the moment, but love losing myself in writing this fic too! I'm also adopting a dog this week! **

**I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this chapter! **


	7. Chapter 7

**Hello! After much MUCH too long without an update, I now present you with Chapter 7! Bits and pieces of Boromir and Kristin's pasts (particularly Kristin's past with ex-boyfriend Liam) come up at different points in this update. There are elements of partner violence in this chapter, so please be aware of that. **

**Review Responses: **

**01Katie: I hope you enjoy this update!**

**Lady Jensen: TYSM for your kind review! I'm so glad you're enjoying the Boromir/OC pairing (there should definitely be more of these stories) and I hope you enjoy this update as Boromir and Kristin explore a little bit of each other's pasts.**

**Guest: I'm so glad you're loving it!**

**Blue1258: I'm very excited to write the wedding chapter(s?) I hope you enjoy this update!**

* * *

"Slow down!" Boromir shouts from my right. I glance at him through my peripherals and stifle a laugh at his stark white expression. He's only driven with me a few times, and every time he's clutched the passenger side handle above his head as if it was the only thing keeping him from going through the windshield.

"Boromir, I'm only going thirty-five miles per hour!" Based on his now confused and terrified expression, I realize my words mean fuck all to him.

I laugh and pat his arm, "C'mon," I return my hand to the steering wheel and switch lanes. "You wield swords and lop off the heads of bad guys while riding a horse." I scrunch my eyebrows and ponder the likelihood of that. "Or at least I think you do, and if that's the case how the hell are you afraid of driving? It's not like you're behind the wheel."

"What you say is true," he flinches as I hit a bump in the road. "but I've never sat inside a moving metal box that roars like a dragon!"

"The engine." I deadpan. "You're talking about the engine."

He laughs, albeit somewhat panicky, "and what the devil is that?"

I shake my head and turn the radio up, "I forget how little y'all actually know about this world. Every time I cover one thing, fifteen more pop up and remind me I'm dealing with medieval fantasy men."

"And elves," Boromir adds as he fiddles with the radio dial. "and dwarves, oh and don't forget the halflings. Tell me," he presses the power button and tilts his head as the music cuts off, "where is the singer trapped inside this little box?"

I bite my lip to keep the sarcastic comment burning on the tip of tongue inside my mouth. He can't help that he doesn't know there isn't a tiny person trapped inside my radio. Hell, for all I know, Middle Earth has tiny pop star fairies that hangout in little boxes and get taken along whenever someone decides to take their horse out for a ride. I chuckle at the thought of a tiny winged Lady Gaga stuck inside a music box for some soldier's entertainment.

"What are you laughing at?" Boromir asks. He's smiling now. _Thank God. _His nervous energy was starting to rub off on me and God knows I have enough of that right now to last me at least several lifetimes.

I shake my head. "Don't worry about it. Look," I point at a sign reading, _Peak Mall_. "We're here."

"And where exactly is _here_?"

I pull into a parking spot and cut the engine. "The mall." I pause as I think of the best way to describe it. "It's a bunch of small shops all under the same roof. You can buy nearly anything here. Clothes, jewelry, food, even furniture."

He perks up, "Like a market! We have one in Gondor. Every day, the shopkeepers bring out fresh breads and fruits to sell on the streets. Others sell baskets and dresses." He shifts in his seat and angles his body toward me. He's practically beaming. "One time I saw a stall selling the tiniest dresses made from scraps of cloth to fit children's dolls." He's talking with his hands now, waving them in front of them as he explains the wonders of his market.

"And once a month, the craftsmen bring all of their work up into the citadel and market them to the nobility. In my chambers I've got this massive tapestry I bought off an older gentleman I-" He sinks back into the leather seat. He smiles, but not the same smile I saw only moments ago. Now it's sad. I can see it in his eyes how much he longs for home. "I don't even know if I'll ever see it again."

I place a hand on his shoulder in a placating manner. "Everything will work out. Gandalf will figure out how to get you guys home."

He sighs longingly, "I wish I could show you. The city climbs into the sky, so high you would think its builders were trying to get to heaven. The White Tower glitters like diamonds when the sun hits it _just_ right. Should we get home and be successful in our journey to destroy the Ring, there will be a grand feast for the Fellowship in the Great Hall. _That's _a promise."

"Tell me something," I grab my wallet from the center console and shove it into the pocket of my cut-offs. The car dings as I open the driver's side door and hop out of the truck. I wince as my feet hit the asphalt and dull pain rolls all the way up my leg to the still-healing wound in my thigh.

I slam the door and wait for him to come around the truck and join me. "Do you not need your crutches?"

I wave him off, "I'll be fine." I can tell he wants to protest, but he doesn't push any further. "So, tell me, "I say again as we start toward the mall. "Would you really want to return to Middle Earth?"

He replies without hesitation, "Of course!" He shakes his head and chuckles. "I'm an honored Captain of the White Tower; revered by many."

I roll my eyes. There's that familiar arrogance; the same flare I saw on the day we met…_and the day he flaunted his manhood in the bathroom. Can't forget that. _Heat rises to my cheeks. I lower my head, hoping he doesn't notice.

"What about everything you've seen and experienced since you got here?" I blow a stray hair out of my face. "I can't imagine not living without some of the things we have. I mean, I'm sure I could do without electricity. Maybe even my phone. But transportation? I can't imagine having to walk or take a horse everywhere."

Boromir reaches for the door before I can. As he opens it, he waves me in front of him. "But you have horses! Why would you own them if you never intend to ride them?"

I stop midstride. The heat of the sun burns my right side while the frigid indoor AC raises goosebumps along my left. "I beg your pardon?"

He leans against the open door and smiles down at me with a devilish glint in his eyes. "In the few weeks I've known you, I've seen you do just about anything but." He begins counting on his fingers, "Feeding, watering, brushing, patting, talking, but," he points a finger at me, "no riding."

I step closer to him and feel the heat emanating off his body. Narrowing my eyes, I fixate on his gaze. "If I remember correctly, I injured my leg saving a," I begin counting on my fingers, "careless, chainmailed, sword-wielding-" I point a finger at him, "-idiot from a raging bull."

Boromir sucks air in sharply between his teeth and clutches chest. "Idiot? Oh dear, now you've really wounded my pride."

I roll my eyes, "You're impossible, you know that?" I gesture over my shoulder, "Can we get this over with without you giving me a hard time?"

He shakes his head and smiles crookedly, "But what else would I do to pass the time?"

I roll my eyes even harder and grab the front of his shirt, pulling him inside with me. Immediately, Boromir's nose scrunches up and he looks like he's going to be sick. "Good gods, what is that stench?"

I let him go and turn around, scanning the surrounding area. "That, my friend, is the food court. What you're smelling is fifty shades of grease from wildly different fast food restaurants all mixed together in one place."

I smirk and roll my eyes, "C'mon." I grab his wrist and tug him gently, "Let's get out of here before you get sick. I can handle a lot of things, but I do _not_ fuck with vomit."

* * *

The color doesn't return to Boromir's face until long after we've left the food court. Who knew Gondor's finest would have such a weak stomach? I laugh quietly to myself.

"What are you laughing at?" Boromir asks.

I feign surprise. "He speaks!"

He nods his head a few times and smiles, "Alright, alright. Easy now. So, I'm a little sensitive to smell." His smile falters as his gaze drops passed my shoulder. He bumps me as he brushes by.

"Hey!" I stumble a few steps before regaining my footing. I rub my already aching thigh and shoot him a dirty look.

"Sorry," he mutters. He turns to me and gestures for me to follow him. He approaches a window display where mannequins dressed in formal wear stare blankly at passersby. "You would look marvelous in this one," he says pointing at a mannequin wearing a deep navy gown.

I roll my eyes, "Yeah, and I bet it costs a fortune."

He takes my hand and before I know it, he's pulling me behind him into the store. He snaps his fingers and the woman behind the counter looks up from the fashion magazine she's perusing. She looks aggravated. "My good lady, please assist Kristin dress in that gown." He points to the window.

My cheeks are burning red with embarrassment. I force his arm down and apologize to the saleswoman. "Ma'am I am so sorry. He's not from around here." She says nothing but based on her cold stare I can tell she wants to kick Boromir in the shins. I whip my head around and give Boromir a dagger-like stare.

"What did I do wrong?" he asks cluelessly. "Is it not her duty to serve you?"

I tighten my grip around his forearm and speak from behind clenched teeth to refrain from dropping him where he stands. "You can't just walk into a store and demand assistance. This isn't a Gondorian court!"

I drop his arm and hobble off to find the dress. It doesn't take me long to locate the rack where one of each size hangs. I pull the Medium off the rack and hold it up, examining it. I bite my lip as I think about how I'd look in it.

"Go try it on."

I jump as Boromir's low voice interrupts my thoughts.

"No promises," I mutter as I head into a changing room and draw the curtain shut. I slip off my shoes and shimmy off my cutoffs. I pull the dress over my head and let the bulk of the fabric drop to the floor. I smooth the satiny material down my hips and raise my eyes to the mirror. The off the shoulder sleeves expose the tan lines on my chest and shoulder and the pleats in the A-line hem disguise my muscular frame making it seem as though I have more hips than I actually do. I roll my eyes at my reflection and search the folds of fabric for the price tag. Things that look this good are never wallet friendly.

"How does it look?" Boromir asks from outside the dressing room.

"Uhm," I grab another section of the dress. _Where the hell is that damn price tag?_ I twirl around searching for it when my foot catches on a length of excess material. There's nothing to steady myself on except for the flimsy curtain. I know it won't hold my weight, but my reflexes react anyway.

I fall forward in a mass of material; the dress around my ankles, and the curtain around my upper body. I close my eyes and brace myself for impact, but it never comes. I crack open an eye and find myself looking up into Boromir's blue ones. They glimmer with a cocky sort of amusement.

He smiles crookedly, "That was clumsy now, wasn't it?" He grunts softly as he hoists me to my feet. I shrug off the curtain and start looking for a way to put it back up when I feel a pair of eyes on me.

"Wow," Boromir exclaims softly. "You look-"

"-absolutely wonderful!"

I have to crane my neck to see the tiny old woman standing behind Boromir who easily has a foot and a half on her in height. She smiles, deepening the wrinkles in her face as she shuffles past him.

"As I live and breathe," she chirps, "Kristin Sinclair! I haven't seen you in here in years!"

I laugh awkwardly. "Hi Ms. Auburn."

"Pardon me," Boromir interrupts, "who is this?"

"This is the owner of the boutique, Ms. Auburn."

She reaches for the bifocals hanging from a beaded chain on her neck and places them at the end of her nose. "My, my, who is this handsome fellow?"

I grimace. "Oh, no, no. We're not-he's not-"

Boromir arches an eyebrow and folds his arms across his chest. "Yes, Kristin?"

I blush furiously and grab my clothes from the changing room before disappearing into a different one to get out of this dress.

"C'mon sweetie, let's go to the checkout counter. I brought some fresh cookies into work today. Why don't we go get you one while Kristin gets dressed?"

I listen to their departing footsteps and breathe a sigh of relief. _Well, that was embarrassing. _My eyes widen as I come to the sudden realization that without me there, Miss. Auburn can tell Boromir anything and everything about my life. That old lady knows everything about everyone in this town.

I dress quickly and rush to the front counter where Boromir stands, resting his forearms on the counter, half-eaten cookie in hand.

"Kristin!" he exclaims. "You have got to try one of these. They are absolutely marvelous!"

I push the dress onto the counter and fish my wallet out of my pocket. "I've had a chocolate chip cookie before." I say dismissively. "Let's just pay and get back home."

His brow furrows, "Is something the matter?"

Miss. Auburn chuckles as she rings the dress up, "She's worried I'm going to tell you about her younger years."

The amused expression returns to his face. "And why are you worried about that?" He nudges me with his elbow before taking another bite of cookie, "Did you do something embarrassing?"

"Oh! Quite the opposite!" pipes Ms. Auburn. "Kristin was the Harvest Queen!"

_Fucking kill me. How hard would I have to bang my head on this counter to knock myself out? _

Boromir smirks. "A queen?"

"It's not at all what you think," I say quickly. I practically throw my credit card at Ms. Auburn. "It's just a stupid townie tradition. People dress up. They hang up gaudy decorations in the town square, there's a dance, there's food and drinks, and then they vote for two people to be the Harvest king and queen. It was and still is a stupid tradition."

Ms. Auburn clicks her tongue disapprovingly, "I have to disagree Kristin. What's stupid now is that Liam Harmon they crowned king. The things that boy said about you…" she shakes her head. "I never believed them."

The dress ends up costing 400 dollars. _Thank God Lana's father is reimbursing the bridal party for all costs. _Ms. Auburn puts the receipt in the bag. She pushes it across the counter and hands me my credit card.

"Thank you." I grab the bag and push past Boromir, exiting the store as quickly as possible. He jogs up beside me. "That was a bit rude now, wasn't it?" he says.

I ignore him and turn right toward the mall's exit.

"Kristin!"

I shoulder the door open and step into parking lot. I move quickly despite the aching in my thigh. As we near the truck, I press the unlock button on my car keys and reach for the handle. I open the door, but Boromir reaches over my hand and slams it shut.

"What the hell?!" I shout.

"What is going on?" he demands. Any trace of the amusement he'd had all throughout our time in the boutique has vanished. His eyes are steely, and his jaw tight.

I grit my teeth. "Can we just go?"

"No," he says, not taking his hand off the door. "Not until you tell me what's going on. I've never seen you act this way."

I turn toward him and repeat what he's said back to him. "You've never seen me act this way?" I scoff. "Boromir, you haven't known me long enough to know how I act."

He steps closer to me, refusing to break eye contact. "Then make me understand."

I bite my lip and sigh, "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

"I wouldn't count on it."

"Fine," I incline my head toward the truck, "C'mon." Boromir doesn't move. I roll my head back and groan. "I'm serious!"

Boromir reluctantly takes his hand off the door and circles around to the other side. After we get in and a few moments of uncomfortable silence, I turn to face him.

"Do you remember our conversation from a few weeks ago? After the whole, uh, bathroom incident?"

Boromir chuckles softly, "I do recall this, yes. You gave me clothes that once belonged to an old paramour and-" the faint smile falls from his face. "The old shopkeeper mentioned a Liam." He shifts closer to me, "I didn't realize. Tell me what happened between the two of you."

I take a deep breath. "It happened two years ago," I begin. "Everyone in this town loves the Harmon's. Liam's father, Braxton Harmon, is the head coach for the high school football team. Not a lot goes on here, so high school football games are high class entertainment. Anyway, Liam went on to play ball in college. We dated long distance since I stayed behind to help my granddad care for the farm, as you know. To make a long story short, Liam came home for Fall break, the Harvest Festival happened, and we were crowned king and queen."

I glance up to see if Boromir is following. He nods and motions for me to continue.

"After the festival ended, Liam offered to drive me home. When we got to his car it was awfully late. I was exhausted and just wanted to get home and get some sleep." I glance down at the floor. "Liam had other plans."

"What plans?"

I take another deep breath and grip the steering wheel. "He just wanted to fuck," I state bluntly. "He told me that he deserved it since he'd been away for so long. I told him that I just wanted to go home, but he just starts kissing me on my face and neck, trying to convince me to go through with it."

Boromir's rough hand gently wraps around my forearm. I bristle at his touch, but don't push him away.

"I kept trying to tell him I was tired and wanted to go home, but he just kept on kissing me. It wasn't until he slipped his hand up and under my dress that I finally pushed him off of me." I pause and rap my fist against the steering wheel. "And then he hit me." I laugh bitterly. "The bastard actually hit me."

My hand subconsciously reaches up to feel the tiny scar on my left cheek from where his class ring had split the skin.

"He called me a bitch, broke up with me, and then spread lies around town that after the Harvest Festival, he'd found out that I'd slept with other people while he'd been away at school. Gossip travels fast around here. By morning I was the town whore."

I sink back into the driver's seat. "That's my story." I glance up at Boromir and groan. "Please don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" he asks defensively.

"With all that pity. It was a long time ago. I've moved on."

He brushes his hand down my forearm, lingering on my wrist and hand. "You didn't deserve that. A man that treats a woman like that is no man at all. He's a coward."

I pull my hand away and turn the keys in the ignition, "Let's just go home, ok?"

Boromir's face expresses a desire to say more, but he doesn't press on.

"Okay."

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**Some humor, some sadness, some of everything in this little update. I haven't decided on whether I want to continue Kristin and Boromit's relationship on the slow burn track, or skip to the good stuff in the upcoming chapters. Let me know your thoughts in the review section! I enjoyed writing this chapter because only small vignettes of Kristin's past have been revealed. Thanks for reading! I'll hopefully have an update in a week or so (especially since I'll be graduating from uni next week!)**

**I also hope everyone is doing well in light of current world events. Feel free to talk about that in the reviews as well! I hope my story brings a little laughter and joy to you during these hectic times. :) **


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